


Thunderstorms and Sighs

by h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Natasha Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Natasha, Shameless Smut, buckynat - Freeform, mentions of steve - Freeform, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/pseuds/h34rt1lly
Summary: When Bucky Barnes is woken by a ravaging thunderstorm, both inside his mind and outside of the Tower, Natasha chases away his demons again [WinterWidow, and the many times Natasha must soothe Bucky's soul] [Floating Avengers/Cap 'verse - this doesn't necessarily happen anywhere specific, though it's way post-CW I suppose. Before IW? *shrug*] [Gift fic for Krystle for the Marvel-ous Holiday Fic Exchange '17].





	Thunderstorms and Sighs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GaeilgeRua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaeilgeRua/gifts).



> For Krystle. Merry (belated) Christmas, or Happy Holidays! <3
> 
> And as always, many thanks to raineraine for beta-reading for me <3

Against the darkened nightscape, rivulets of rain meandered down the windowpane. There was no pattern, no path they followed. They simply carved their _own_ path as they reflected the bright city lights below, a marvel of mother nature at her finest. As thunder rumbled overhead, Bucky Barnes felt it reverberate through his chest. The joint of his shoulder ached, and he rotated his arm, trying to ease the tension. When that did little good, his lips twitched in displeasure as he continued to watch the storm rage outside.

He wasn’t sure what woke him, whether it was the deafening sounds within his dreams or the claps of thunder outside. Some weeks, the dreams left him alone. Others, they haunted him every damn night. Had he been a normal human being, someone that wasn’t plagued by their past actions, or had chemical cocktails running through their veins, he might’ve sought help for his sleeping problem: meds, booze—hell, even therapy would’ve been welcome if he’d believed it would work. Instead, he was left running himself ragged in the hopes that his brain would be too exhausted to mash together whatever feature picture it wanted to for the night.

The cool air in the room should’ve given him goosebumps, bare from the waist up as he was. But the dreams had left him covered in sweat, blood rushing to the surface, and he felt . . . claustrophobic.

A frustrated sigh leaked out of him as he reached up, gathering the loose strands of his hair in his hands. With a quick twist of the tie around his wrist, he loosely knotted his hair at the crown of his head. Sam constantly made fun of the length of his hair, mocking his “man bun” and stating that he was part of the “hipster crowd” now, whatever that meant. He’d laughed anyway, offering a quip in return that had Sam laughing, too. But when he met Steve’s eyes across the room, the smile slid from his face.

He’d tried to cut his hair once.

The second the long, chestnut brown strands had fluttered to the floor and he looked in the mirror, he felt like a fake, an imposter. He’d felt like he was trying to be the Bucky Barnes he’d been before he fell off the train, a different man from a different time. It felt . . . wrong. It was true that he didn’t love the person he was now, post-Hydra, post-Winter Soldier, but he was _trying_ —stepping back to the old him felt like an injustice to everything Steve and Natasha had tried to do in order to get him to see the good that still existed in him now.

It was a weird to place to live, this limbo between the old him and the new him. He couldn’t say it was the “better” him, but he was who he was, no matter what he wished for otherwise.

When he glanced up to look out the window again, a sliver of his reflection blinked back at him. It was like staring into the mirror at the barber shop all over again, and he closed his eyes before turning away, unable to stare into his own soul.

Instead, his gaze honed in on the gentle rise and fall coming from the body on the bed, cotton sheets draped over slim hips like a soft dream. For a moment that felt stolen, he stood there and simply watched her as she slept, envious of the calm she found in her unconsciousness—something he wished he could find for himself.

Not that he begrudged her that calm. She deserved every minute of peaceful sleep that she could get, and he would never wish to take that away from her, no matter how much he might want it, too.

She shifted, rolling over onto her back as her beautiful, pale eyes cracked open. “James?” she called out, her voice hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing?”

Bucky leaned back against the glass, feeling the cold from outside seep through his skin, deep into his bones. It was uncomfortable, but at least he could _feel_. “Nothing, ‘Tasha. I just can’t sleep.”

At that, Natasha pushed up, swiveling around to face him head-on. A beat passed as she studied his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the terse set of his jaw. Finally, she murmured, “Again?”

Though it sounded like she was simply asking whether he couldn’t sleep, he knew that’s not _really_ what she meant. Underneath the single loaded word, posed as a question, he knew she was really asking whether it was same _reasons_ he couldn’t sleep—again. They knew each other well enough by this point, had so much history behind them, behind their relationship, that he could glean that from a single word.

If only the rest of life was so easy.

He let out a long exhale as he pivoted on his heel, staring out the window at the Manhattan cityscape again. “Yeah.”

From behind him, rustling sheets and the soft padding of bare feet on carpet coming closer, kept him from tensing when she gently touched the small of his back. He knew she did that for his own sake, because Natasha was more than capable of being completely, and utterly silent, if she so wished. But it put him more at ease, and she knew he needed that—a gesture he always appreciated, and would be grateful to her for.

They stood there, together, staring out at the lights below in silence.

Rarely did she ever ask him if he wanted to talk about the dreams, the nightmares that plagued him. Rarely did _he_ ever ask her if she wanted to talk about the things that haunted her—because they both knew, they both understood first-hand how these things went: sometimes, there are things one simply can’t put into words, can’t explain.

So, instead, they’d stand together or lay together, limbs intertwined and staring into each other’s eyes, because the silence spoke more than either of them could ever say aloud.

Other times, they did _something else_.

When Natasha’s hand drifted down his back, causing the fine hairs on his skin to rise, he looked down at her, a single brow raised in a silent question. As she moved to his side, trailing her fingers along the bare expanse of his skin, a tiny quirk of her lips had him offering a dry laugh in return.

It seemed like tonight was going to be one of those “other times”.

Without a word, and nothing more than a heated gaze shared between the both of them, she slipped her hand into his metal one. Most people thought he couldn’t feel nearly as well with the vibranium limb than his flesh one, but that was simply not true. He felt the heat from her skin meeting the cool surface of the plates that kept his arm together, moving, working like the real thing; felt the pad of her thumb caress the length of his, the calluses on her fingers rough against his own. Those calluses were a strangely comforting thing, a physical reminder that they had shared experiences few others could claim.

He understood, better than most, that she was familiar with staring down the barrel of a gun; she knew how the sound of a snapping neck reverberated through your body, through your soul; she knew what it was to deceive people, both strangers and people intimately close to you, as a day job.

Most importantly of all, she recognized the strands of guilt and pain that threaded through his soul. She knew, better than anyone else, how best to help him forget—even if it was for only a few, scant minutes.

With their hands still intertwined, Bucky let Natasha lead him back to bed. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she sank down atop it, sliding her hand out of his until only their fingertips were left grazing against each other. He cocked his head inquisitively, and her first response was a slight shake of her head, the tiniest of smiles on her lips.

“Patience, _soldat_ ,” Natasha murmured, running her lips across the curve of his thumb. The ghost of the touch he really wanted sent shivers skating along his skin. If it were anyone else to call him that—that title, that _brand_ —he might’ve punched them. But when Natasha did it . . . it was enough to make him weak, all the way down to his knees.

“Or what?” Bucky retorted, a matching, coy grin on his own face.

Her eyes flickered to his, and slowly, she opened her mouth, taking his metal thumb into it. The slick heat of her mouth, the gentle swirl of her tongue, elicited a moan from him. It came from deep within his chest, an almost mournful cry that sounded like she was stealing his soul—and perhaps she _was_.

“That’s not much incentive to behave, Natalya,” he said, a quirk of his brow emphasizing his point.

“Maybe not.” She straightened, dropping his hand and trailing her fingers along the band of his sweatpants. “But that would imply that I was trying to punish you, James, and why would I do that if I want what comes next as much as you do?”

He curled his now-free hand into a fist, watching her spring his semi-erection free with hooded eyes. “Who am I to stop you?”

“Isn’t that a good question?” she whispered, looking up at him again from under her lashes as she trailed the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock.

This time, he let his head fall back as a full-on groan left him. In reflex, his hand flew to her hair, and he threaded his fingers through the soft, downy strands. As she swirled her tongue around the head, he looked back down at her, already fighting to take a full breath. Watching her take him into her mouth was, by far, the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed—and she knew it, the minx.

The way she stared up at him with a gleam in her eye made it all too obvious, and in retaliation, he tugged on her hair. Her eyelids fluttered, and the moan that he felt vibrating around his cock was _delicious_. With added fervor, she slid her lips along his length, sucking in her cheeks at the very tip like she knew he loved.

Bucky watched Natasha with parted lips and heavy breaths, until a few minutes later when he felt his lower abdomen tighten in anticipation. “‘Tasha. ‘Tasha, you’ve gotta stop.”

She pulled off his cock with a _pop_ and a sly grin. “Why in the _world_ would I want to stop, James?”

With a slight shake of his head—What did he do to deserve her?—he pulled her to her feet, flush against the muscled length of his body, and against the evidence of his arousal. “Because _I’m_ not ready for this to be over yet,” he murmured against her neck, peppering kisses along her skin.

A mewl escaped her, and without warning, he spun her around so that his hardened cock was pressed between the curves of her ass. Her mewl morphed into a throaty moan that had his member twitching, and he followed the curve of her neck down to the joint of her shoulder, suckling on the soft, supple skin there.

Only a few seconds later, Natasha let out a frustrated huff. “Don’t tease.”

He chuckled against her skin, leaning back slightly so he could slide his hands up her long legs. A shiver rippled down her spine, and he knew it was because of the contrast between cool metal and warm flesh. Gently, he traced circles on the skin of her inner thigh with the fingers of his left hand, giving her time to adjust. When she exhaled in pleasure, he then pressed his hand fully against her skin, dragging her thin chemise up and over her head. It was then that he realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear—hadn’t been the entire time—and he let out a stifled groan.

As soon as the fabric hit the floor, he reached back up and cupped her pert breasts in his hands. When he swept his thumbs across her nipples, earning him a sigh from her lips, he smirked into her hair. The room was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning as it streaked across the sky, and the tail end of her exhale was swallowed by a deep clap of thunder.

“James,” she breathed, her arm snaking up and twining around his neck.

“Yes, Natalya,” he whispered into the curve of her ear.

When her fingers tugged on the end of his hair, he winced. “I said _don’t tease_ ,” she scolded, her voice low.

“All right, all right.” He encircled her waist with his hands, spinning her around once more. “You’re demanding tonight.”

“I’m not demanding.” She gazed up at him as she pulled her lower lip under her teeth. “I just know what I want,” she murmured, pulling his hips closer to hers.

When the tip of his cock brushed against her skin, he had to hold back a groan. “And damn, if I don’t love it.”

Without further preamble, he crushed his lips to hers. She moaned in surprise, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her mouth, grazing the side of hers in a sensual promise of what was to come. After winding her arms around his neck, she pulled him even closer, seemingly desperate to feel him against her—that was a feeling he knew all too well.

Mirroring her actions, he circled her waist in his arms, lifting her up off the bed with ease. In a practiced, familiar motion, she hooked her legs around his waist. The tip of his cock brushed against her again, but this time, the wetness from her core tempted him too much. It was now or never, and he broke their kiss to look into her eyes with fire and lust in his own.

“Well,” she breathed, cupping his face in her hands. “Don’t make me wait too long, _soldat_.”

A grin teased at the corners of his lips, and he smiled against her lips when he kissed her again. Without another word, he lowered her onto him, letting out a strained groan as he entered her to the hilt. A choked gasp left her, and she threw her head back as it transformed into a throaty moan that had his cock twitching inside of her.

The heat from her core was exhilarating, as addicting as the world’s most potent drug. With barely any effort, he briefly raised her up before slamming her back down. The breath from her lungs left her, tickling the hairs of his beard as she gasped into his ear, “James . . . oh, James.”

Burying his face into her hair, he breathed, “Natasha.”

Over and over, he consumed her, feeling the ripples of pleasure run through her with every thrust. When the speed and angle was no longer enough, he lowered her to the bed, slipping out of her as he moved to reposition them. An uncharacteristic whimper left her, and she reached for him, running her slender fingers along his length in a silent plea for more.

He stifled a moan of his own, and she _tsked_ at him. “Don’t you dare hold yourself back from me.”

A dry chuckle escaped him, and he leaned over her, bracing his weight on his elbows on either side of her face. “I don’t want to wake up the whole tower, ‘Tasha.”

Natasha quirked a brow, and with a teasing twinkle in her eye, said, “Fuck the tower.”

Again, a grin spread across Bucky’s face. He lined himself up, driving into her with a single, harsh thrust. When she gasped and arched against him, he laced his arm underneath her back, crushing her chest to his. In a low, gravelly voice, he said, “I’d rather just fuck _you_.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he drove into her relentlessly, breathing hard into the crook of her neck. Her nails raked across his back, and every moan he pulled out of her was like music to his ears. When her breath hitched on the last moan, he leaned up a little, reaching his left arm in between them. The second his fingers grazed her clit, metal against flushed, swollen flesh, she cried out, digging her nails into his skin.

As he continued thrusting, he could feel her inner walls quivering around his length, tighter and tighter with every lunge of his hips. More than once, he had to squeeze his eyes shut and think about the slow, almost clinical disassembly of his favorite rifle.

Her keening cries became shorter and shorter, until she was barely breathing at all. He looked down at her, marveling at her beauty and wondering how he ever deserved her. When he circled her clit and pressed against it with the pad of his forefinger, her eyes fluttered completely shut. “That’s it, Natalya.” His words were peppered with heavy breaths, and he grazed the tip of his nose against hers. “Come for me.”

To his surprise, she cracked her eyes open. They burned into him, just as the heat of her core warmed him to his very soul. “Only if you come with me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, only to feel her squeeze his length with her inner walls. Taken off guard, he sucked in a breath, only to have it cut off, and transform into a surprised groan that disappeared into the tresses of her hair. Seconds later, she threw her head back, threading her fingers into the long strands of _his_ hair as she pulled it out of the bun, tugging ever-so-slightly as she came around him.

From far away, he heard her name repeated over and over again. Each subsequent cry became more strained, until it almost sounded like the person was crying; each syllable of her name was choked out with reverence, and it took longer than he was willing to admit for him to realize _he_ was the one doing it.

By the time he opened his eyes again, she was tenderly stroking his hair, laying under him in silence as she waited for him to come back to her. Feeling guilty, he pushed off of her, gazing down at her with what he hoped was an accurate representation of the love that filled him.

With a gentleness that betrayed the deadly, trained assassin she was, she stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “I know, James,” Natasha breathed.

“I feel like I should say it anyway,” Bucky admitted with a sheepish grin.

A smile spread across her face, lighting up her features. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

When he pulled away, she traced the line of his jaw, tapping his chin when she said, “ I love you, too.”

With an exhausted groan, he rolled off of her and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he let out a sigh. Silently, she turned onto her side, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. They laid there, together, neither of them feeling the need to ruin the moment with words.

Absentmindedly, he traced circles into her skin, skimming the curve of her ribs with his fingertips. A few minutes passed, until she finally said, “Did I chase the dreams away?”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards as he rolled his head to the side, looking at her with fondness. “Don’t you always?”

Seemingly unable to hold back a smile, Natasha grinned up at him. “Better than anyone else you know?”

Though he knew she was trying to tease him, the smile fell from his own face as he looked into her eyes. For a moment, he hesitated. Through all the nightmares, through all the memories, she’d always been there for him. She never judged, she never pushed him to talk when he didn’t feel like it, or forced him to face his past if that wasn’t what he wanted, in that moment. Unequivocally, she trusted him to make the right decision, choosing only to stand by his side because she knew that’s what he needed the most.

After all, it was easier to trust in himself, if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she did, too.

In a quiet voice, Bucky said, “The only one who can.”


End file.
